


Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

by Pixie (magnetgirl)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cornwell-Lorca Kids, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Vulcan Culture, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-03-30 23:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/pseuds/Pixie
Summary: Katrina has a baby and no family, so Sarek and Amanda adopt them both.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So rawkfemme [headcanoned](https://rawkfemme.tumblr.com/post/170624583024/caressyouintodarkness-mia-cooper) that Kat had Mirror Lorca's baby and she lived on Starbase 1 and might have been blown up. But I [decided](http://pixiedane.tumblr.com/post/170625673863/rawkfemme-mia-cooper-rawkfemme) Amanda was taking care of the baby on Vulcan while Kat and Sarek ran around fighting Klingons. And it became A Thing. 
> 
> Dedicated to rawkfemme, LizBee, Helena, admiratkatcornwellfan, and my anonymous fans, and special thanks to caressyouintodarkness for keeping me laughing.

V U L C A N

They walk every evening at dusk. Amanda, the baby, and their shadow, the guards Starfleet insists on as long as the war goes on. Amanda thinks it's silly. Vulcan is deep within Federation space and the war is far away. Her husband and little Gabby's mother are on the frontlines, they need guards.

They have guards, Starfleet tells her. They have a fleet. But the war is not going well for the Federation. Klingon attacks are brutal, unpredictable, and near constant. Thousands have died, no one is safe. And they would make excellent hostages -- or examples, depending on which of the many enemy factions found them first.

So, a contingent of trained soldiers lives in her house, and follows her on her walk every evening at dusk.

Vulcan's climate is harsh for a human. None can stand to be out at midday, and it's really only comfortable in the early morning and late afternoon or evening. And Gabrielle was born hypersensitive to light so Amanda keeps her inside until T'Kut is in the sky and Shi'khar is covered in a gentle red glow. All the lighting in their homestead is solar powered and far less harsh than that found on a starbase, starship, or government building on Earth. The ancient walls of red sandstone keep the temperature ambient with very little technological interference, too. Amanda thinks it's the perfect place to raise a photophobic infant though it's possible she's biased.

They end their circuit in the gardens, as they do every night, with sweet nectar for Amanda and the guards -- it's easier for her to handle the new reality if she treats them as guests -- and a bottle for the baby. A nanny came with the guards, too, but Amanda does most of the feedings herself. Her son is grown, estranged, and fighting a war. Her daughter is already a casualty of it. Sometimes she wants to kill all the Klingons with her own hands. She's glad Sarek is too far to read her mind, her rage, her sorrow, her shame. He doesn't need to deal with her all too human emotions. He has a war to fight. She has a baby to feed.

Amanda plucks the infant girl out of her sling. Earth has thousands of contraptions for carrying a child, for every stage of their life, but on Vulcan the sling wrap has worked for millennia and they see no reason to change.

"Tonight we meet the pirates," she tells Gabby. She's reading her old Earth storybooks, as she did to her children, starting with classics like _Peter Pan_. Gabby's a fighter, like Peter, like her mother. And, Amanda hopes, a dreamer, too.

"I think you've gained again, little one," she murmurs, holding the girl with experienced hands. Born premature, Gabrielle was still small for her age. But so was Spock, and look at him now. "Your mama will be so proud."

Amanda sits, baby in the crook of her arm, and reads two chapters while she drains her bottle -- a nutritious compound created to her individual needs by the Healer Sorel and his human partner Dr. Corrigan. The two had helped Amanda and Sarek conceive their son, and have remained the family doctors since. 

Sated, Gabby starts to get drowsy and Amanda moves into the nursery. There she drops into the rocking chair Sarek built when she was pregnant and calls up the recording Gabby's mother made before they left. Kat's voice fills the room, a simple message to watch the stars, she’s watching too, and then a lullaby, tentative and low, but present, in a way.

_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleepy little baby. When you wake, you shall have, all the pretty little horses._

Amanda and Gabrielle slumber.


	2. Sometimes Life Throws You Curveballs And You Didn't Even Know You Were Playing Baseball

M E D B A Y , S T A R B A S E  8 0

"What?"

"Approximately nine weeks pregnant," the doctor repeats.

Katrina shakes her head. It doesn't make any more sense the second time.

"I can't . . ."

Another doctor steps up beside the first. One she knows -- Deb Choi, a colleague. "Katrina, I know this is hard to talk about." A psychiatrist. "And I understand the impulse to leave it out of the debriefing--"

Kat shakes her head again. "No. . ."

Deb places a comforting hand on her arm. Comforting and restraining. "But it's important you go on record. Not just for Starfleet, for your--"

Kat throws off the hand on her arm. "I wasn't . . ." She stops, takes a few long breaths. "The Klingons," she explains, or tries to, but cuts off again and closes her eyes. _Only threatened_ , the thought continues, but even in the privacy of her head she can't find the words. She pulls her lips in over her teeth, and opens her eyes. ". . .I had consensual sex the day before I was taken hostage," she explains quietly.

The doctors share a look. "Ah."

They don't believe her. She decides not to care.

"But that doesn't explain-- this shouldn't have-- I don't--" She still can't find the words, but the physician -- Jude, she remembers -- nods.

"It was likely in between your cycle," he says, "and if you'd had an injection on time the pregnancy would have terminated." Contraception is easy and standard, but dependent on regularity. 

Kat purses her lips.

"But I was captured by Klingons."

He nods. "Yes."

It takes every ounce of dignity not to roll her eyes. The situation is _ridiculous._

"Katrina," Deb tries again. Kat knocks her away again.

"I was-- starved, beaten-- electrocuted, I-- two days ago I couldn't stand-- couldn't--" She looks suddenly at Jude. "Is. . ." The words stick in her throat again. But _she_ barely survived, how could . . . Her fingers flutter over her stomach.

"The fetus is healthy," he answers the unspoken question. Her fingers flutter again. "When you were injured your body made certain adjustments, chose to prioritize the protection of your child--"

She throws her hands up, fingers splayed, _stop_. "My -- body --- chose," she repeats, raises her eyes to meet his. "To-- to make me an incubator."

An awkwardly quiet moment passes. Jude nods.

"In a manner of speaking."

Kat looks between the two doctors. A nurse is there, too. Concern -- pity -- is plastered across all their faces. The room feels suddenly claustrophobic. Her chest is tight, heart racing, the monitor behind her starts to beep in alarm. She swings her legs to the floor, pushes to a stand. She wobbles, still weak.

"I can't. . ." It would be honest, and accurate, to admit she can't handle this right now, but she refuses.  "I need-- I have work to do--" Six hands intercept her flight. She squirms in their grasp. "There's a war going on! I can't-- I have--" She jerks away at the sight of a hypospray in the nurse's hand. "I have _work_."

"I'm sorry, Admiral, you can't leave."

"We can discuss this later," she asserts, "there are more important--"

Dr. Jude grasps her shoulders. "Ma'am, you need to stay under observation for at least another full day."

Kat meets his eyes, glances to Deb's worried expression on the right, the nurse poised to dispense whatever sedative is in the hypo on the left. She raises a hand in defeat and returns to the biobed.

"Fine. I need you all to leave. I have work to do."

Jude and the nurse glance to Choi, who nods. The nurse drops her arm and backs off.

"Of course," Deb agrees. "But Katrina, you've been through a lot. Is there anyone we can call for you?"

Kat glances away to think. She doesn't have any family, and her friends, at least the ones nearby, aren't the kind of friends she can call to come keep her company in the hospital because surprise, she's pregnant. Disabled, okay. Traumatized, maybe. But _pregnant_? She can't even begin to imagine how she would explain it to anyone. She can't explain it to herself. She shakes her head.

Jude hands her a disc. "The results of all your scans. Let me know if you have any questions."

Deb squeezes her hand once -- more comfort, more pity -- and the two doctors move away. Kat shivers, she feels cold and queasy. And scared. She's alone with her thoughts.

She's alone.

But she's lived most of her life alone. Service and Starfleet have always been her priorities. It's not just duty, though duty is important to her. She could help the most people that way. It's hardly an empty life. And she has friends and lovers and. . . and having a child wasn't something she missed. She never expected to have a child.

But that's not the same as not wanting to have a child.

_Do I want a child?_

The question scares her more than the Klingons ever did. No, not the question. The answer.

_I don't not want a child?_

She shakes her head. _No, stop, focus!_

It doesn't matter what she wants. The galaxy is at war. She can't be distracted and this is already distracting her.

She picks up the reports of Klingon movements Command sent over. There have been more sightings in the last three days than the three weeks before.

It would be hard enough to have a baby if none of that was happening. She doesn't know anything about being a mother. She'd have to learn, have to take time and make space. She doesn't have time and space is exploding around her. The war takes precedence over her personal life. Just like she told Gabriel.

Wait, would Gabriel want a child?

They've never talked about children, in any context. He's driven and ambitious, focused, like her, that's why they work. They've talked about relationships in lots of contexts, his, hers, theirs. Even settling down when Starfleet is done with them -- Gabriel knows exactly what that looks like, Katrina can't imagine it. But he's never mentioned kids and she's certainly never brought it up. She'll have to ask and she doesn't know how and she feels sick thinking about it.

 _Focus_.

She has to talk to him anyway. She has to follow up on their last encounter. . . maybe a baby would help _him_ focus. Give him a reason to trust her, and something better than battle to cling to. Maybe she can use--

Now, she is sick. Tasting bile in her throat she runs to the fresher and throws up. _What kind of mother -- what kind of person --_ She feels tears on her cheeks. She doesn't remember the last time she cried.

The nausea and tears pass. She presses her fingers to her eyes, forcing away any remaining wetness, and stands. Splashes cold water over her face. Pats a towel over her eyes and down her cheeks. It's thin and antiseptic, like everything in the hospital, but soft. She peers in the mirror, raises her chin.

Katrina returns to her bed, the mantle of authority firmly in place, and taps the counter to open a comm channel.  

"Yes, Admiral?"

"I need to contact Discovery," she tells the officer. "I need to speak with Captain Lorca on a secure line."

She'll start with hello. He'll ask how she's feeling -- it's only polite, Gabriel is good at polite when he wants to be. She'll say fine and he'll know she's evading and it will put him on guard -- he's probably already on guard -- but she'll explain she just wants to talk. Privately. It's important. For his health and hers and. And then they'll arrange to meet -- he's at starbase, she can leave tomorrow -- just to plan. They need a plan. She's good with plans.

"Discovery is currently radio silent."

Kat blinks. "Why?"

"I'm not certain, Admiral."

"Well, find out," she barks.

"Yes, ma'am."

She closes the connection.

She would like to throw something, but then they won't let her go. They have to believe she's handling all this just fine thank you. And she is. She is. It's a simple decision. The galaxy is at war. Gabriel is a question mark at best. She's already proven she'd be a terrible mother. And it was never anything she needed anyway.

She pushes the comm unit away and picks up her work. There's a strategy meeting scheduled for the morning and she intends to be there. With a plan. She's good with plans.

As she gathers the war reports, the disc with her med scans falls onto the bed. Kat drops the intel next to the comm unit and picks up the disc, slowly turning it between her fingers.

It's not a fair choice.

And that doesn't matter.

She sets the disc aside and retrieves the war reports.


	3. Love Isn't The Only Battlefield In This Life

 

C O N F E R E N C E  S U I T E , S T A R B A S E  8 0

Katrina follows Admiral Gorch into the north alcove off the main conference room. The admiralty's been talking for hours and are no closer to any decisions, answers, or agreement. The war has exploded in the last six weeks. Tension mounts on pace with their losses. And in the middle of it Discovery is running silent, all hails unanswered. Kat would take it personally, but no one has had contact from anyone on the ship in a week.

"Coffee?" Gorch offers from the replicator. Katrina waves a hand and drops into a chair with a frustrated sigh.

Communication disruption is not uncommon these days. At least three of the Klingon factions are known to have technology that specifically targets comms, and it’s a standard tactic in any war. Command is able to track the ship- they haven't jumped, haven't engaged the spore drive at all, which suggests they've taken damage. Starfleet ordered two ships to intercept, but both came under Klingon attack, one destroyed, the other limping away. Heavy casualties. Discovery remains alone, presumably surrounded by enemies, and silent.

And no one else wants to do anything about it.

Gorch takes the seat beside her, placing two mugs on the table between them. The blue stars of the Federation seal imprinted on the cup blur in her vision, mocking her resolve. "Reports indicate a fifth warship within ten light years of Discovery's last known location. The risk is-"

"Necessary," Katrina argues. Again. "Discovery has intelligence vital to the Federation's survival. The spore drive alone should be protected at all costs."

The admiral raises a hand. "Even if I agree, the mission would require a starship, preferably a fleet, and there are none available." 

She leans forward. "What about something smaller- treat is as recon."

"A lightship against five Klingon warships?" Gorch's tusks quiver with unease. "It would be suicide."

"Not if we aren't detected," Kat counters with steely determination.

The Tellarite's eyes narrow. " _You_ intend to. . . Admiral, you were only released from medbay. You are not cleared for active duty!"

"You just said no one else is available."

She crosses her arms, shoulders firm, eyes daring him to suggest she's not capable. Never mind the sharp pain in her side or that the smell of the coffee turns her stomach. She needs this and he needs to let her do it. 

"Do you want the Klingons to get spore technology?" Kat asks, calm but clear. "Or do you want the Federation to retrieve the secret to the Klingon cloak?" 

Gorch sputters, and throws up his hands. The Vulcan ambassador is making almost as much noise as Cornwell, and has been for almost as long. He wants Intrepid - and Gorch is inclined to agree if they'll all just go away.

"We can reroute Intrepid," he tells her, "They're scheduled to leave at seventeen thirty." Kat nods and stands. Gorch grunts. "You're more valuable here, Admiral." Her eyes flicker to his. "Whatever's happened to Discovery, your being there won't change it."

Katrina sets her jaw. Nothing she can say will strengthen her argument, much more likely to force her hand. And she'll be damned if _Gorch_  learns about the pregnancy before Gabriel. Ugh, when did her life get so ridiculous!

The answer flashes unbidden behind her eyes.  _Stardate 1207.3_ The Battle of the Binaries.  

"Are you ordering me to stay?" 

The Tellarite grunts again, and shakes his head. Kat nods once, half gratitude, half defiance, and takes her leave.  

 

B R I D G E , U S S  I N T R E P I D 

 

Katrina Cornwell grew up with Starfleet. Her father was an attache, assigned to various ambassadors of numerous Federation worlds. He travelled frequently, often accompanied by his wife and daughter, and even when she wasn't with them, Katrina was considered an asset and representative of Commander Cornwell's position and Starfleet at large. As such she was exposed to both stringent protocol and a wide variety of alien cultures from a very young age. Both of which she built on in her career. And Vulcan is one of Earth's oldest and closest allies. But despite her background, her training and years of experience, she's uncomfortable on the bridge of Intrepid, surrounded by Starfleet's only all-Vulcan crew.

The quiet is oppressive. And the stillness. Katrina was accused of acting 'Vulcan' by more than one would-be suitor at the Academy, but here she feels as if she's wearing a crown that flashes 'EMOTIONAL HUMAN' in bright red neon lights and everyone is just pretending not to see it. 

"Admiral, one of our probes has reached Discovery."

She turns sharply at T'Lessa's statement, delivered in a calm, matter of fact, and therefore vaguely infuriating, manner.

"Can we get a connection?"

The science officer makes some adjustments at her station. "There is no response from-" She cocks her head. "Admiral." Kat feels her chest tighten at the slight change in the Vulcan's tone. T'Lessa turns in her seat to meet her gaze directly. "Data indicates a battle, an explosion."

Heads turn all around the bridge, eyebrows raising in a strange synchronization. A tangle of emotions threaten to pull Kat's focus but she pushes them all aside and forces her voice into a practiced calm. "Can you get a visual?" T'Lessa nods, toggles a switch and the viewscreen switches from drifting starlight to spinning wreckage. Katrina's fingers curve inward.

"Scan the debris for survivors."

"Admiral?"

"Escape pods. Warp trails," she elaborates in a clipped, flat tone, eyes straight ahead, scanning the image on the screen as if she could pick out evidence of life with her bare eyes. "And also comm logs." If they followed protocol a log would have been jettisoned the moment they came under attack. Not that Gabriel and protocol had been getting along lately.  _Stop_ _,_ she clamps down on the thought before it's fully formed.  _Focus_. "Anything that will tell us what happened."

T'Lessa shares a look with the communications officer. Clearly this crew think they know what happened- logic dictates Discovery had been targeted, discovered, and destroyed -but acknowledge she is following protocol, and they do as she says.

"How far are we?"

"We will arrive at the site of Discovery's destruction-" Katrina flinches. T'Lessa ignores it. "-in approximately sixteen minutes."

 _"-because it's not important to me. I'm a_ doctor _, I don't want to be good at shooting things."_

_"Doctors get shot at." He places the phaser in her hands, pulls her arms up into position. "Shooting back should be instinctive."_

_"That's horrible."_

_She feels his arms stiffen around her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ." She sighs. "I know security is important but-" She bites her lip. "We already have the top score in class."_

_He looks down to meet her gaze. "Battles are won or lost in minutes. Seconds." Her cheeks grow warm under the_ _intensity of his eyes. "I need to know you'll be safe when I'm not there."_

Kat blinks, forcing the memory away. Fists still balled, her nails dig into her palms. "I'm going to the observation deck." She walks purposefully to the turbolift, ignoring the concerned eyes of both present and past.

 

O B S E R V A T I O N  D E C K , U S S  I N T R E P I D 

The deck is occupied when she exits the turbolift. Katrina recognizes the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth- they run in the same circles and their paths have crossed before this mission, though mainly in passing. For the past few days, he's been her closest companion. They share a personal connection to Discovery, and thus a personal determination to reach her. And Sarek is much more knowledgeable of, and comfortable with, humanity than anyone else on the ship. Compared to the crew, he's warm.

Part of her hoped to not have an audience when. . .when they arrive. But another part of her is grateful she doesn't have to bear it alone. Still, she schools her face into the mask of command before approaching him.

"Ambassador…"

"Admiral Cornwell." Sarek nods as she joins him at the window. "I understand the probes have uncovered evidence of Discovery's destruction." 

Kat presses her lips into a flat line. "Yes."

Something flickers in Sarek's eyes, some acknowledgement of pain. But before either can speak again, Intrepid drops out of warp and the remains of a starship fill their view. 

Katrina's eyes go wide, her breath catches in her throat. Her body feels suddenly leaden, she can't move. She'd imagined a dozen different conversations with Gabriel- mostly shouting matches, some tears, never joy. She was too practical- too afraid -for joy. But not practical enough- not cynical enough -to imagine this. Whatever happened, however it ended up, she'd been counting on him to be her safety net, as he always had been. The one she always refused to need.

 _I need you now_.

She presses her hands into her sides and shakes the thought away.

"Admiral, we have the results of the scan."

Kat glances at Sarek before answering. He nods imperceptibly and taking a quick breath she presses the comm button.

"Go ahead."

"The wreckage is confirmed as Discovery," T'Lessa reports. Every Starfleet vessel has a unique engine signature.

Kat takes another quick breath. "Lifesigns?"

"...None," the science officer reports after a brief hesitation. "There is no evidence of shuttlecraft and nothing habitable within transporter range. If escape pods were launched it is likely they were caught up in the explosion." Another brief pause. "It appears there are no survivors."

A moment passes. A silence so loud it echoes.

"Go on."

"Nothing larger than two meters remains, indicative of a warp core breach, likely the result of a targeted attack. Both Klingon disruptor and Federation phaser signatures have been detected, as well as photon torpedoes."

Katrina nods, welcoming the cool Vulcan delivery now. It keeps her to task.

"Copy everything to Command for forensic analysis," she orders. "What about logs?"

"Nothing so far, Admiral. It is possible they did not have time to jettison any reports."

The unspoken truth lingers in the air. They may never learn what happened here.

"Keep looking."

"Yes, Admiral," T'Lessa acknowledges, and closes the connection.

Katrina stares at the window, their reflection outlined in space dust.

"How many?" His voice is low and oddly gentle.

"Discovery's crew complement was one hundred and thirty-six." She frowns. Burnham's assignment remains pending. She'd meant to file it as soon as she returned- Michael was instrumental in the operation and deserved credit. But she'd become distracted. She blinks and corrects herself, "...One hundred and thirty seven." Bright eyes meet dark in the low light. 

Words stick in their throats. Michael and Gabriel had survived multiple attacks. Since the beginning of the war and before, since childhood. They'd been forced into impossible choices, and suffered as a result. But they'd survived that, too, persevered. And saved Sarek and Katrina both. They deserve more, better, than an off screen explosion, a death pieced together with logic and grit. 

"Bridge to Admiral Cornwell." T'Lessa's call breaks the silence. 

Kat taps the wall com. "Cornwell here."

"Klingon warships have been detected merging on our location."

Her eyes narrow. "Are scans complete?"

"We've collected data from 78% of the wreckage."

"How soon will the warships arrive?"

"They are cloaked," T'Lessa explains, implying any estimate would be uncertain.

The admiral takes a deep breath. "Set a course back to Starbase and be prepared to jump to warp as soon as scans are complete- or a warship appears."

"Aye." The connection goes silent.

Kat feels Sarek watching her, lifts her eyes to his. She's putting them all at risk on the off chance something useful might be found in the swirling space dust.

"I want answers," she murmurs and he nods understanding. She feels tears at the back of her eyelids, and the ghost of a smile tugging her lips. Hysterical. She's been on edge for days, weeks- months, if she's honest. Nothing makes sense anymore. Ships don't run on magic mushrooms. Starfleet commanders don't mutiny. Gabriel doesn't lose. 

Her chest is tight again, her heart pounding in her ears. _An anxiety attack_ , she recognizes. Sarek blurs in her vision as she tries to focus on her breath.  _No, wait. . ._ It's something behind Sarek, something outside the window.

Kat punches the wall comm. "Bridge!"

"Sel here."

"Go to warp," she orders, forcing the words out.

"Admiral?"

There is an audible pop as a Klingon warship appears off their bow.

"Now!" Katrina shouts, eyes on the warship, mind on the starship of people she lead into peril. Her heart is still racing, breathing shallow.

"Warp six engaged-"

Something explodes out the window and the ship rocks. Kat pitches forward, losing her footing. 

"Admiral."

Sarek catches her as she crumples, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. She reaches a hand to get his attention. Her lips move, form his name, but she doesn't speak, can't. Her fingers brush his cheek and he hears her plea in his mind as she loses consciousness. Sarek's eyes go wide. The last thing she hears is a deep voice shouting for an emergency transport.

 

S I C K B A Y , U S S  I N T R E P I D 

She wakes to the familiar noises of a medical suite and briefly imagines she never left the medbay on Starbase 80. Maybe the whole last week didn't happen.  _Magical thinking never helps anyone_ , she scolds, and opens her eyes to break the spell. The view is both familiar and foreign; starship design is standardized but she's not been here before. Sarek hovers at the edge of her vision. She blinks and turns to meet his gaze.

"I'm in sickbay."

He nods confirmation. "You lost consciousness."

The lack of a doctor at her bedside suggests she's not injured. "How long?"

"Less than two hours." 

Katrina frowns, trying to piece together what happened. They were on the observation deck, observing the debris that had been Discovery, when- The attack! She glances around the room but there is only one other patient. Nor are there any alerts sounding.

"The ship took minimal damage," Sarek explains, correctly reading her concern. "We are currently en route to Vulcan."

 _Vulcan_? She remembers ordering the ship to starbase, but then someone else would be in command while she was unconscious. 

"Based on our discovery I felt it prudent to return to the council as quickly as possible," Sarek answers her unspoken question again. She nods. It's logical. "Admiral." She turns, surprised at the hesitation in his voice.

"Is something wrong?"

He purses his lips, uncertain how to answer. "When you fell-" Kat remembers his hands on her and feels herself blushing. The panic attack indicated her emotions were too overwhelming for her own psyche to handle, it must have been agony for a Vulcan. "You were in distress and a mind meld was accidentally initiated. I became aware of your condition."

"My. . ."

"Your pregnancy," he clarifies.

Kat swallows, her blush deepening. 

"I also informed the physicians." An irrational fear bubbles up at his words. The space between his brows crinkles almost imperceptibly. "I apologize for the breach of confidence. I was concerned for your health."

Her fear starts to dissipate under his steady gaze. She nods. "I understand."

They fall quiet. Kat feels oddly calm, as if some external force is holding her anxiety at bay. It's soothing.

"You're the first person I've told." She shrugs. "Sort of."

Sarek wonders, but waits for her to elaborate, if she wishes.

"I. . ." _What?_ she wonders, too. She was embarrassed, afraid, confused, drugged? She wanted to speak with Gabriel, couldn't reach him. . .now. . . A new wave a grief crashes over her. Sarek's slight frown deepens. Katrina forces herself to take a deep breath, raises her eyes to his, but she still can't find the words.

"No explanation is required."

He is offering a kindness, but actually, she wants to talk about it. Gods, she must be desperate to be confessing to a Vulcan.

"My-"  _Partner? Lover? Friend. . ._  "The baby's father was on Discovery."

Sarek lowers his eyes. "I grieve with you."

She shakes her head, uncomfortable accepting the platitude. "He. . . we. . . thank you," she accepts, and takes another deep breath. "I intended. . . I intend to terminate the pregnancy." She glances away a moment. "You're the first person I've told that, too."

He offers a conjecture, "It is not an optimal time due to the war."

"Exactly."

Sarek remains very still, intensely focused on not reacting. Katrina frowns.

"What?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"You look like you have something to say."

He hesitates, then straightens, clasping his hands behind his back. "It is not my place."

"It's no one's place, that's the whole-" A deep loneliness flickers in her eyes. Out of sight Sarek's fingers flutter. "Please," she murmurs.

He cocks his head. "In the meld you were very clear."

"Clear. . ." Her eyes narrow in confusion. "About what?"

"About your desire and determination to protect the baby."

Her lips part. She wants to sob but no tears come.

His dark eyes are steady on her's. Unreadable as always, but she senses compassion, and even a desire to help. 

"I don't know how. . ." she whispers.

"It is my experience that humans learn quickly when it is required."

The matter of fact response almost makes her smile. It also makes her want to scream. 

"It's not safe," she argues. He'd said it: "We're at war. Everyone I know is fighting or. . ." She closes her eyes. _Dead_. She shakes her head. "I'm too busy, I'm needed. . . I'm too. . ." _Old_. It shouldn't have even happened, though she knew the regular injections prolonged her fertility. Her grandfather had children at her age, and then raised her, too, but he'd had a support system. She'd always been too independent, too scared, to build one. To let anyone close enough to lose. But she lost them anyway. "I couldn't reach Discovery. I wanted. I wanted him to tell me it was the right thing to do, and I wanted him to talk me out of it."

She raises her eyes, bright with too many emotions to describe. Sarek waits, offering whatever silent support he can. He's stiff, uncomfortable, but present, refusing to shy away. She's grateful and gives him the ghost of a smile.  _  
_

"There is no logical reason to have this baby."

Sarek raises an eyebrow and slowly places a hand on her shoulder. "Is there an illogical reason to have this baby?"

Gabriel smiles in her mind's eye. 

"Yes."

Sarek nods and drops his hand. "My wife. . .could be an excellent resource for you. I hope you might consider meeting with her when we reach Vulcan."

Kat scrunches her nose. It takes all her self-control not to laugh- or slap him for volunteering his wife for the hazardous duty of Admiral Emotion Wrangling and/or midwifery. Sarek frowns.

"Amanda and I are bonded," he explains, affronted. "While we are too far apart to communicate, telepathically or otherwise, I assure I make the offer on behalf of both of us. She would certainly volunteer herself."

Katrina's eyes flicker. He keeps answering questions and comments she hasn't articulated. "Are you reading my mind?"

Sarek looks at her sharply. "Forgive me." He did not realize it himself. "There must be a residual connection from the meld." He raises a hand holds it out toward her face. "May I?"

Kat swallows, scared, but nods agreement. Sarek places his fingers gently on her temple and murmurs something too low for her to understand. When he pulls back she feels, paradoxically, more connected. She supposes intent matters. Sarek straightens, holding her gaze.

"One hundred and thirty seven lives were lost today. At a minimum." His voice is calm and quiet, but not without emotion. "In times of high mortality rates, it might seen as logical to take every opportunity to balance the loss with new life."

Kat raises an eyebrow in a passable imitation of a Vulcan. "Like the impulse to have sex after a battle?"

His lips quirk, the shadow of a smile. "Indeed."

Her answering smile is much wider, and resonates in the space between them. 


	4. Home Is a Feeling Not a Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone following and encouraging this story! And apologies for the long wait for an update. But I ended up splitting this part in two so the next chapter is written and will post later this week, yay!
> 
> This story includes a hodgepodge of Vulcan culture and architecture gathered from the works of Diane Duane, Jean Lorrah, other fics I've read over the years, and my own imagination, in addition to series canon.

 

V U L C A N  H I G H  C O M M A N D , S H I ' K A H R

Katrina was nine years old when she first visited Vulcan. It was hot, and bright, and everything was huge. Huge, and old, and she wasn't allowed to touch anything, or ask any questions -- which she took to mean she wasn't allowed to speak, and she was quite aggrieved about it. She told her friends Vulcan was the most boring place she'd ever been. Really, it was intimidating, and even at nine she hated to be intimidated.

Everything is still huge. And honestly, still intimidating. Vulcan High Command is as she remembers it. All high ceilings and silent corridors that stretch forever. Following Sarek to his office she feels small again, and worries about making too much noise.

She's not a child, though, she's an adult, a member of Starfleet Command, and in the company of a Vulcan Ambassador. The Vulcans they pass nod with more deference than they'd afforded her father, and not only to Sarek. The war looms large over every interaction, it's why they're here, and the planet knows it. Vulcan needs Starfleet.

Their brisk walk ends in an alcove cut into something like sandstone. Sarek ushers her through the outer rooms to his private office. He'll be making a brief initial report to the High Council and she's not needed -- not welcome -- until their more formal meeting set for the next day.

"I will not be long," Sarek assures before heading off the way they came. Katrina nods, feeling a little awkward left behind in his private space. She might've stayed at the beam point, or even on the ship, until his report is concluded, but honestly it would be equally awkward. Possibly more, at least here she has somewhere to relax, somewhere to hide from judgment.

 _Stop projecting, Cornwell,_ she tells herself sternly, and turns her focus to the room.

It's warm, like all of Vulcan, but the golden walls make it even warmer. Perfectly clean and ordered, of course. No dust even though Sarek hasn't been here in weeks. A bit minimalist, but that's to be expected. The furniture is all stone and while she'd noted cushions, for the comfort of off-worlders, in the exterior rooms, here there is only a blanket folded neatly on the -- whatever the Vulcan word is for loveseat.

One long shelf, however, carved into the wall in typical Vulcan architectural fashion, is lined with some thirty printed books, all examples of Earth literature. Kat wanders over for a closer look. Many she's familiar with, others she recognizes the title or author. There are a couple of contemporary titles but most were written hundreds of years ago. The books are not out of place, they are just as well maintained and organized as the rest of the room, and hardly eccentric for the Ambassador to Earth. But they stand out. There are no visible Vulcan texts, save a handful of scrolls piled neatly on a second shelf, and the books are more brightly colored than anything else in the room, or the whole complex as far as she remembers.

"All my visitors are drawn to the bookshelf."

Kat turns, startled that he appears to be reading her mind again. And also appears to be smiling, if subtly.

"Did the briefing go well?"

"As well as can be expected. The discussion tomorrow will have far more depth."

Not much of an answer, but probably all the question deserved. He'd said it'd be quick, and they wouldn't discuss anything she didn't know. She has no reason not to believe him.

Sarek's eyes narrow very slightly and Kat feels her cheeks grow warm. Depending on the individuals, the social cues of Vulcan scrutiny can be misread by the human psyche as criticism or attraction. She supposes it's healthier for their relationship if she develops a crush rather than an inferiority complex, though her blush only deepens at the thought and she turns abruptly back to the books.

Quiet, Sarek moves to join her at the shelf, hands clasped behind his back. Katrina focuses on her breath.

"My wife gifts me a new book each year for our anniversary," he explains.

She glances over. "I didn't think Vulcans celebrated anniversaries."

"We do not," Sarek confirms. "But Amanda is human."

A smile tugs at her lips. He nods to the shelf.

"You may select one or more to borrow if you would like something to read."

 _Something other than war reports_ , the offer implies. She brushes her fingers across the spines of the collection.

"Which is your favorite?"

"Favoritism is illogical."

Kat smiles. "Which would you suggest then?"

After a moment of thought, he reaches out and hands her a book.

 _Northern Lights_ , she reads, _by Philip Pullman_. She wonders at the significance but Sarek's expression is inscrutable. She clutches the volume to her chest with a nod.

"Thank you."

He gestures for the door and they make their way out.

 

S A R E K  H O M E S T E A D , S H I ' K A H R

The Sarek family homestead is large and distinctly Vulcan but as they move through the main house, Katrina notices many visible human touches. There are pillows on the furniture and throw rugs on the floor and they pass a large grandfather clock in the hall. She notices a number of artifacts, too, some familiar, some strange. Gifts, she assumes, from the various cultures he's met with over his years as an Ambassador. They remind her of her grandfather's house.

A woman, a human who can only be his wife, appears as they enter a wide room, clearly a gathering space, in the middle of the house. She's beautiful, dressed in a layered sundress in soft pastels. Sweating in her uniform, creased and stained after more than a day of wear, Katrina feels stuffy and smelly in comparison.

"Admiral!" Amanda greets her with a bright smile. "Welcome to our home."

"Thank you," Kat answers automatically.

"Husband," she addresses Sarek, and they touch hands briefly. Sarek and Amanda have been married three decades but many people still whisper about how and why. Seeing her, Katrina doesn't wonder at all. Amanda carries herself with an effervescence that puts her immediately at ease.

Amanda pours a glass of something from a pitcher on a sideboard and holds it out to Katrina. She gives her a questioning look.

"Sweet nectar," Amanda explains. "It will help you acclimate to the heavy gravity and dry air." Vulcan's climate is notoriously harsh on a human. Kat lifts the glass to her lips. "Drink it all," Amanda commands with a well-practiced maternal tone. Bemused, Katrina drains the glass and hands it back. "Good girl. Now, let me show you your room."

Kat raises an eyebrow. She's not accustomed to being told what to do. She and Amanda are contemporaries -- if anything, Kat's a few years older -- and Vice Admiral outranks schoolteacher regardless of who she's married to. Two voices against elitism -- her grandfather's and Philippa's -- simultaneously sound in her head but Katrina pushes them aside. She's not being elitist, she's being practical. It's not late and every hour matters these days. She and Sarek should talk strategy before the council meeting. She hadn't even really agreed to spend the night anyway.

"No, I don't need," she starts, turning to Sarek for help but he shakes his head.

"It is Vulcan custom," he tells her. "Guest right demands we offer drink and refuge."

Kat vaguely remembers a childhood lesson in Vulcan Guest Right, a practice held over from the years before the Reformation. Home was considered sacred even during the times of civil war and upheaval, and both friends and enemies were given shelter as guests.

"And you need the rest," Amanda adds, her expression as firm as Sarek's.

Katrina sighs internally but nods. "Of course, you're right."

Amanda smiles and gestures to one of the three archways that lead out of the room.

"I'll give you the tour later," she tells her as the move away from the central room, "but this side of the house is all living quarters. It's another Vulcan custom to place guests amongst family," she explains, "they tell me it's to put them at ease, but I expect in the dark ages it made them feel surrounded."

Kat nods, smiling at Amanda's insight.

"The children haven't lived here in years but of course I keep their rooms up," Amanda continues, nodding at archways -- none of the rooms appear to have doors -- as they pass. Her expression briefly falters and Katrina is reminded her son is on the frontlines and her daughter recently deceased.

"Ms. Grayson--"

"Amanda." She shakes her head. "Please call me Amanda."

Kat nods. "And I'm Katrina."

Amanda smiles. Kat bites her lip.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," she answers with a well-trained politeness Katrina recognizes from her own past. Kat frowns, but Amanda points through an arch. "This is you."

Kat follows her into the room. It's simply furnished, a bed, a table and a shelf carved into the wall. Amanda demonstrates how to activate well hidden lighting and the sliding door if she desires privacy. The room is cooler than the the rest of the house so far, which is very welcome, and there is a food synthesizer as well as another pitcher of nectar with which Amanda refills her glass.

"The refresher is two doors down and if you need anything Sarek and I have a suite at the very end." She hands Kat the nectar. "One more glass and then get some sleep."

"I-" Kat shakes her head. She is admittedly tired, but there's so much to be done. Reports, requests, likely an updated death toll . . . How can she sleep?

"I know," Amanda says, in a tone that makes Kat believe her. "But the meeting is tomorrow afternoon and you need rest. It's best for you to be asleep while your body adjusts to the atmosphere."

Katrina frowns. She hadn't even considered planet fatigue, but of course it is a factor.

"Normally you can take something stronger than nectar," Amanda continues, "but it wouldn't be safe for the baby."

Kat looks up sharply. Of course she knows, and she knows she knows. Sarek implied she'd learned the same time he did, sort of. Mind melds are strange and marriage bonds stranger, but that's her understanding. Still, it startles to her to hear it. And so simply.

Amanda touches a hand to her arm. "I also made you an appointment with Dr. Corrigan, my personal physician. Tomorrow morning."

Katrina pulls her lips in over her teeth. Of course, pregnancy causes fatigue, too. She really is quite tired, and clearly not thinking straight. She nods. "Okay."

"Good." Amanda squeezes her arm in comfort before letting go. "Now sleep."

Katrina nods again and Amanda moves away.

"Thank you," Kat calls after.

Amanda turns to smile. "You're very welcome."

As she disappears into the corridor, Katrina remembers Amanda is an accomplished linguist, and smiles to herself as she prepares for bed.

She does feel very welcome. It's been longer than she cares to admit that anywhere felt as close to a home.


	5. Vulcan Mo(u)rning Rituals

 

S A R E K  H O M E S T E A D , S H I ' K A H R

As Amanda predicted, Kat wakes feeling much better. She pours herself another drink from the refilled pitcher and finds a uniform folded neatly on the shelf, along with underclothes to replace the ones she slept in. It's not one of hers, neither the right rank nor department, but it's Starfleet, and looks a close enough fit. She will feel much more comfortable than she would have in one of Amanda's gowns, as her host seems to realize.  Draining her glass she replaces it on the table, picks up the bundle of clothing and makes her way to the refresher.

Twenty minutes later, showered, dressed, and feeling far more like herself, she retraces her and Amanda's steps back to the large room in the center of the house. The morning sun fills the room -- there's a central skylight she hadn't noticed the night before. There's no sign of Sarek or Amanda but her communicator, tricorder, and the book Sarek lent her are piled on one table. When she moves to pick them up, she notices a small circle bot recorder, like the one her father always kept on his desk. She hits the button to activate it and a holographic note in blue letters appears above the table.  

_Good morning, Katrina. I'm in the kitchen.  
North arch, third door on the right. _

_-Amanda_

Kat smiles, shuts off the projection, and heads to the northern corridor.

She smells the kitchen before she sees it, and quickens her step when she realizes how hungry she is. Honestly, she's not sure when her last meal was. Before they found Discovery. And that explains where her appetite went. But it's not healthy and if she's going to have this baby she has to pay better attention.

Katrina shakes her head. What a difference 48 hours can make.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, has a hybrid Vulcan-Earth set up. The layout is perfectly logical, with a collection of old fashioned appliances, all solar powered, and the ubiquitous shelves carved into the sandstone walls. But the island in the center has three bright blue high top chairs on one side and Amanda is leaning over a large cast iron pan that doesn’t match any of the ceramics that line the shelves. Mason jars full of herbs and spices from all over the Federation are found on every surface. None of it looks out of place, however. And again Katrina is reminded of her grandfather's farm. Of home.

"Good morning," she calls, and Amanda turns from the stove with a bright smile.

"Oh good, it's not too bad a fit."

Kat follows her eyes to the badge at her breast -- her Admiral shield, on the borrowed uniform with the silver stripes of a scientist, and realizes suddenly who she's borrowed it from. She's wearing Michael Burnham's uniform, from before her court martial, before the war, before she was Pippa’s executive officer. Gabriel's special project. Sarek's and Amanda's child. 

She should have packed a bag. She should have committed to the visit when Sarek first suggested it. She hadn't and now she's wearing a dead woman's clothes.

"I hope you don't mind. . ."

Kat pales, shakes her head. Amanda's eyes are concerned. 

"Nothing is wasted on Vulcan," she explains. "It would be illogical." Kat nods. Amanda blinks back tears. "Providing for you is how we remember her."

Katrina runs her fingers over the edge of her sleeve. "I'm honored." She takes a deep breath. "Specialist Burnham . . . She rescued me from the Klingons."  _I'm so sorry I couldn't rescue her._ Her throat feels dry, she swallows quickly. "Starfleet was lucky to have her." Katrina doesn't have the authority to expunge Burnham's record. But she doesn't have to pretend what they'd done to her was right anymore.

Amanda lowers her eyes.

"The family memorial will be held tomorrow evening. I hope you may attend."

As a guest in their home, Vulcans would consider her family for traditional gatherings such as these. But Katrina, like Amanda, like Michael, is human, and she would rather she stay away than come under duress.

But Kat answers swiftly and decisively, "Of course."

Amanda's answering smile is sad, but genuine, and she brushes lingering tears away.

"So. Breakfast, and then we'll head to the city for your appointment."

Katrina takes a seat in one of the blue chairs, placing her book and tricorder to one side.

Amanda leans over the counter to read the title of the book. "Ah," she smiles up at the admiral. "Sarek's favorite."

Katrina cocks her head. "Favoritism is illogical," she repeats, in a passable imitation of Amanda's husband.

Amanda's smile widens, her eyes lit up in delight. "Yes, I've heard." She taps the cover. "But he likes it because Lyra is rewarded for going against her traditions."

Kat glances down at the book. Her assumption was Sarek had given her this title because it was considered children's literature. But Vulcans, and schoolteachers like Amanda, tend to hide lessons in everything. In this case there are probably layers of lessons, passed back and forth between them. She will have to read it closely.

Amanda spoons a thick porridge into two bowls and passes one to her companion, pointing out the selection of toppings, both sweet and savory, lined up between them. "I hope you brought your appetite."

Kat flashes a toothy grin and reaches for a bowl of dried fruits.

  


M E D I C A L  C O M P L E X , S H I ' K A H R

The crowd of patients in Dr. Corrigan's waiting area is more diverse than anywhere she's been on Vulcan so far. And as such, louder than anywhere she's been on Vulcan so far. It is oddly both comforting and disconcerting and briefly she wishes she'd let Amanda stay with her. But she'd done enough -- and planning her daughter's funeral took precedent to holding Kat's hand. Seriously, it's ridiculous how nervous she feels.

Maybe she can blame it on the hormones. Or grief. Or the atmosphere. Or body memory of being on Vulcan as a child. She looks at her feet to hide that she wants to giggle. This analytical list of reasons for her to be anxious is self-serving and feels silly, but also makes her feel better. Or possibly hysterical again, but she'll take it.

Swallowing inappropriate laughter, she turns back to the stack of forms she has to complete. Most of the questions are standard and easy. She stumbles a bit over the section on Gabriel's medical history -- she knows it well, especially after the last year, but it feels almost macabre to input. In the entire section on Family Medical History she's the only one without a check mark by 'deceased'.

But she's been marking those boxes for a long time. She squares her shoulders and turns to the last page.

 

Emergency Contact _______________________________________________________________

 

She pauses, frozen. She's never minded being alone. Independent. But this blank line throws it all into stark relief.

 

_"I'm here on official business," she murmurs against his lips._

_"Official?"_

_"Admiral Kau--" His tongue gets in the way of her words, and she lets it, but when his hand starts to creep up her shirt she pulls away before she's too distracted to deliver the message. "She said you haven't filed any of your paperwork."_

_Gabriel rolls his eyes. "I'll order my yeoman to do it."_

_"You don't have a yeoman."_

_He leans in with a grin. "I'm a captain."_

_She places her hands on his chest, swallows the urge to pull off his top, and pushes away, playful. "Not until you complete the paperwork."_

_With an exaggerated sigh he hands her a tricorder, and waits, watching, as she reads._

_"You left emergency contact blank."_

_He shrugs. "I don't have one."_

_"You need one."_

_He looms close again, brushes a hand through her hair. "I'm almost fifty years old."_

_"That's not the--" His lips close over hers._

_After a moment he pulls back enough to meet her eyes._

_"If something happens. . ." Her voices drifts into silence. They're trained to expect the best outcomes, but life has taught her to prepare for the worst._

_He nods. "Okay."_

_He pulls the tricorder out of her hands, taps in a name, and hands it back. Eyes narrowed, she reads:_ Katrina --

  


\--Cornwell?" She blinks, shakes her head to clear the memory, and stands.

The nurse nods at the PADD and stylus in her hands. "You can complete those in the exam room."

Katrina follows her down a long corridor to an alcove where the nurse takes her vitals and hands her a medical smock to change into before leading her into a small room. A slideshow of families blinks from the wall. One a holo of Sarek, Amanda, and their infant son. Amanda had explained that Dr. Corrigan and his partner, the Vulcan Healer Sorel, first collaborated to aid in Spock’s conception and birth.

Katrina changes quickly and returns to the blank space on her medical form. She's always focused on what she has, not what's missing. It's harder this time. She takes comfort in the knowledge her grandfather would be delighted that she's having a baby, that she's having Gabriel's baby, after all these years. But he'd be equally dismayed she has to do it alone. 

The door chimes, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Come."

The door slides away to reveal a man, short and stocky, slightly older, with kind eyes.

"Admiral Cornwell?"

She nods.

"Hello!" he greets with a booming voice. "I'm Dr. Corrigan."

"Hello," she echoes, startled at how jovial he is, particularly contrasted against the company of Vulcans with whom she's spent the last week.

"I've looked over the disc with your most recent exam. Been through a lot."

He pauses, in case she wants to respond. Kat takes a breath, but she can't find the words now any more than she could at the Starbase.

Corrigan cocks his head.  "Didn't perform much of a prenatal."

She shrugs, embarrassed, and wishes again Amanda was here. Or Sarek, who seems understand her without speech. In Gabriel's absence they've become the safety net she refuses to accept.

But sensing her discomfort, Corrigan sits back and moves on. "So I'd like to do a full work up. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good."

He motions for her to lie back. She stares at the ceiling as he gets the tech ready. More carved stone.

"This will be cold," Corrigan cautions as he places a small circular button low on her belly. She holds very still, determined not to flinch. She hates medical exams. Corrigan returns to his station and keys in a few data points.

"Ready?"

Katrina nods and he hits a button. The space above her body lights up, a patchwork of lights and images. In many ways it resembles a star map. _How curious._ The doctor points to a mass on one side.

"Looks good, close to the end of the first trimester."

She peers at the image of her baby, tiny and seemingly inhuman, making minuscule movements the scan barely picks up. Corrigan makes an adjustment and the image zooms closer so they can make out the strange shape of the body. Katrina eyes are drawn to the steady heartbeat. Wonder crosses her face.

"Pretty special huh?"

She means to nod but her eyes flicker to to scrolling text, an ever refreshing list of vital measurements, hers followed by the baby's.

"You're both healthy," the doctor assures. She visibly relaxes. He smiles and turns off the display. "I need to get you on a prenatal compound, boost your energy, ward off anemia. How's your stress level?"

Kat purses her lips. _We're at war and I'm having my dead best friend's baby, how's_ your _stress?_

"Fine," she answers, shortly.

"It's normal to feel a bit overwhelmed."

"I'm not overwhelmed."

He doesn't believe her but nods acceptance. She looks away. The stress isn't going to go away, or even down, anytime soon. But the baby already survived Klingon torture, they're a tough team. If only she could be certain that was a good thing.

"I'd like to see you in two weeks."

Kat blinks, her attention drawn back to the doctor. "Oh, I. I'm not staying."

"Hm?"

"I need to get back to--" She has a responsibility to Starfleet and it has always come first. That might not be a good thing, either. But it's all she knows. "I can't. . ."

_I can't do this._

Her chest tightens and she feels lightheaded. Everything is hitting her at once and it's too much. It's all too much.

Corrigan grabs her hands. "Hey, I understand."

She shakes her head. She doesn't understand herself. But the pressure helps her focus and her breathing settles. She squares her shoulders and raises her eyes.

"I have work to do."

He holds her gaze a long moment and finally nods.

"I want you to see _someone_ in two weeks. Will you be back on the Starbase?"

". . .I don't know," she admits. The future is even more amorphous than the present.

"Okay." He thinks. "I'll add my readings to your disc, so whoever you see has access, how's that sound?"

She nods. He smiles.

"Good." He lets go of her hands and starts the download. "Will you be coming back to Vulcan to have the baby?"

Katrina looks at her hands. Sarek and Amanda have carved out a space for her, here, in their home. She has a couple friends she can lean on, but they are all Starfleet, and caught up in the war. She and her baby and all her complicated feelings will be in the way. It seems ridiculous to think her out of control emotions would be better welcome on Vulcan but . . . well . . . what if they are?

Her eyes fall on the silver cord of Michael's uniform, folded on the counter. Sarek and Amanda are in mourning. But maybe, maybe they can all heal together.

Corrigan waits for her answer. Katrina raises her chin.

"Yes."

He smiles. "Good. Get dressed and come to reception. We'll put together a plan." She nods and he leaves her alone to change.

Five minutes later, she emerges and hands over her completed forms. As Katrina and Corrigan plot backwards from her expected delivery date, the nurse copies over the information. Under emergency contact she inputs: 'Sarek'.


	6. Explorations In Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware this chapter includes a vague reference to sexual assault.

V U L C A N  H I G H  C O M M A N D , S H I ' K A H R

Her grandfather told stories about Vulcan High Command. About how stubborn they could be, and vindictive. He admired the Vulcan people, their culture, and was close to individual Vulcans, but he had a well developed resentment for the council, a holdover from his childhood and early command. It never interfered in his duties, his working relationships; he was known to be a shining example of Human-Vulcan relations. And it wasn't a lie. But, as with most things in the upper echelon of the Federation, it wasn't the whole truth.

Still, Katrina had never put much stock in his complaints, had filed them away as personal bias and cultural misunderstanding. And that was probably accurate. But she hadn't fully appreciated her grandfather's insights until she was locked in a room with twelve members of the High Council discussing the Klingon war. Well, they probably weren't locked in - much of Vulcan architecture doesn't even include doors - but they'd been in this room for over four hours and were no closer to a plan, or even a consensus, than when they started.

The first twenty to forty minutes were fine. She and Sarek presented the facts, calm and succinct, then settled back to listen. Listening is one of Katrina's strengths, a cornerstone of her career. It's a skillset she shares with the handful of Vulcans she's close to, and naively attributed it to the majority. Those in the meeting may well be a vocal minority, but the emphasis is on vocal. And all of them are saying the same things over and over. Caution this and logic that. Vulcans don't actively emote so there is no shouting or hand wringing. Just a lot of silent posturing and pent up frustration. Plus it's hot and stuffy and while her uniform is her own, at least, blue and gold and comfortable, it's made for space travel, not the desert. She's hot and tired and bored and impatient and getting more irritated by the second. All of it is hidden behind a mask of resolute composure, but her fingers twitch beneath the table. She feels exposed, and she doesn't like it.

Sarek's eyes dart her way and they share a look. She's starting to see the advantages of a mental link - but Sarek is attuned to the emotional response of humanity and senses her disquiet without a formal bond. He straightens and when the subtle movement draws the room's attention, stands.

"I suggest we break for today and reconvene when we've news."

The room hums a moment and Kat notes a few furtive glances, but perhaps they are tired, too, quietly they start to file out. She holds a professional posture and visage, nodding at the handful of councillors who acknowledge her as they exit. Sarek speaks to another few, in low tones too soft for her to hear, then waves them on and moves to her side.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

He nods, acknowledgement if not acceptance. "I would like to follow up with one or two of my colleagues before returning home. I can arrange a car for you-"

She raises a quick hand. "No, I don't mind waiting."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes." 

The space between his brows crinkles very slightly. A frown, she recognizes, and swallows a sigh. His concern is meant as a kindness, but she can't stand being managed.

"I'm fine, promise. Just a little tired."

Sarek's eyes narrow, responding again to subtext as much as her words, but he doesn't argue. "Remain here, I'll make sure you're not disturbed." She nods and takes a sip of nutrient water. Sarek moves the pitcher, and a half-full tray of fruit, within her reach. "I will return shortly."

Her eyes follow him to the door. When he's disappeared from view, and his footsteps finally fade, she allows herself to wilt, head and shoulders falling forward onto the table. Her back, neck, shoulders, all ache from the tension of the topic, the rigidity of the furniture - does _everything_ need to be carved stone? - and the polite necessity of maintaining Vulcan posture and composure. Her whole self hurts, really, mind, body, and soul and it's all going to get worse before it gets better, for many reasons.

Katrina snakes a hand up over her shoulder, presses her fingers into her neck. There's little give, her muscles stiff, skin warm. Her eyes droop.

_"You worry too much." His hands dig into her shoulders, attacking the tension, pushing against her too rigid posture._

_"I'm not worrying, I'm working," she counters, glib. Arguing, if you can call it that, to argue. Playing the game. Though the game is based in truth and she_ is _working, and worrying, because worrying is her work._

_"You work too much, too," he tells her, moving his hands down her body, pulling her closer._

_"I do not- ahh- I . . ."_

In the present, Kat shakes her head, as she did in the past, or so she remembers.

_"Shhh," he tells her, his breath warm on her neck. Her whole body tingles in response to the admonition._

How many times had this happened?

_She paces, PADD in hand but she's been writing the speech for weeks, living it for longer, and she knows the words by heart. He pulls the device away, takes both her hands in his, pressing his thumbs to her palms. Her eyes flicker to his, her pent up anxiety meeting his steady gaze. He presses harder. "Keep talking."_

How many times? Too many to count. She'd come to rely on it, on him. . . The night before a test. The first week of a promotion. When she had trouble with a superior, or as she got older, and climbed up the ranks, the reverse. It was never about the specifics. He didn't have answers, and the greatest stressors were classified anyway. It wasn't about the sex, either, though they ended up there at least half the time. He kept her grounded and if he was here now-

Well, he'd probably _put his fist through the table_ the way she secretly wishes to.

No, that's not fair. Gabriel could be quite the diplomat when he wanted to be. Better than her in some cases. Maybe most cases.

Ugh, _stop_. She shakes her head, pulls her fingers through her hair.

If he was here, he'd support her. Prop her up. She imagines him _beside her, open, welcoming, but firm, guiding attention to her words._ And when alone as she is now, he'd _draw his hands across her shoulders, cup her chin, lean close to press his fingers into her neck and a phaser to her temple-_

Katrina starts, jerking up suddenly, her eyes wide, blinking at stars. She feels lightheaded, her breath tight in her chest and her heart pounding in her ears. She forces the memory away and focuses on her breathing. She doesn't know how the Vulcans might react to her panic, or what an attack could do to the baby. Another attack, she reminds herself, and last time she passed out.

 _Stop_ , she tells herself again, _stop_.

Hands brush gently across her shoulders and she startles again, and jumps away.

"Admiral. . ."

With deliberation she focuses her gaze on Sarek's alarmed expression. She takes a deep breath.

 _I'm sorry_.

Kat's not certain if she said it or he did, or maybe it was all in their head. _What's going on?_

"I felt your distress," Sarek explains, aloud.

Katrina frowns, sick to her stomach. It's imperative Vulcan Command take this seriously, if she's somehow keeping them distracted, broadcasting personal drama. . .

"Admiral," Sarek says again, then, "Katrina," which elicits a nervous laugh. Of course he knows her name, but she didn't expect to hear it. At his urging she drops back into her seat and he takes a hand, moves his thumbs gently across her palm. She feels a lump form in the back of her throat.

"Why are you doing that?"

"To calm your distress."

That word again. How weak he must think her.

"I do not," Sarek answers the unspoken self-recrimination.

She frowns and pulls her hand away. "I thought you. . ." She waves a hand at his temple. She doesn't know the words. He nods, understanding enough. "But you can still hear my thoughts," she accuses.

The Vulcan purses his lips. "I am - particularly attuned to human minds," he posits. He'd bonded with his wife, of course, but also his late ward, and in circumstances not dissimilar to how he'd melded with Cornwell. "I apologize for your discomfort."

She looks away. It's not discomfort, exactly, though she can't think of a better word. "I normally-" _hide_ "-control my distress." Squaring her shoulders she meets his eyes. "I apologize for _your_ discomfort."

Sarek holds her gaze a long moment, doesn't look away even when her cheeks redden in response to his intensity. An odd sensation accompanies his scrutiny, and it stirs a memory from childhood. A Vulcan woman pressing her shoulders firmly, murmuring something forgotten to time, setting up some kind of mental protection before she steps onto a transporter pad. He's establishing boundaries, building back up the walls he'd accidentally tumbled. Strangely the gesture makes her feel closer to him. He's taking responsibility.

"I hope I didn't pull you away from anything important."

"No," he answers, with the hint of a harsh edge to his voice. She raises an eyebrow. "They had no more to say to me alone than they did to us together," he explains.

Kat frowns. "They don't trust us."

"They're afraid. And ill equipped to handle it."

Katrina pulls her lips in over her teeth. Anxiety has gripped her for days, months. It's causing her distress, yes, but not concern. It's not unhealthy - she has every reason to be anxious - and she knows how to work through it. She just did ten minutes ago. 

_Oh._

Sarek gives her a measured look. This is why people say Vulcans are smug. But she understands he's treating her as an equal.

"I still don't like you reading my mind."

"I cannot perceive anything you do not wish to share. Merely how it affects you."

Kat sighs. "And you felt my distress."

He nods.

"Okay."

He nods again, and gestures toward the door. She's nervous, tired, hungry, and definitely ready to leave this damned stone room, and gathers her belongings quickly, as he waits and watches. She's not ready to talk, but it's comforting to realize he's ready to listen.


	7. Definitely a Hedgehog

S A R E K  H O M E S T E A D , S H I ' K A H R

The trip from Command to the Homestead is under an hour, but Kat's tired, and stressed, enough to doze off. She wakes as the consular vehicle comes to a stop at the gates of Sarek's home, blinks her eyes open as the gentle thrum of the engine fades, and discovers her head tucked against Sarek's chest, the fingers of her right hand curled into the folds of his robe. Embarrassed, she springs back and scurries out and nothing Sarek or Amanda says can convince her not to take her evening meal in her room.

It's not only embarrassment. There's also fatigue, and the looming funeral, and a strong need to be alone, really alone, so she can stop being a representative of Starfleet and the Federation and Earth and humanity and whatever else the Vulcans and Klingons and universe need her to be. So she can be small, just for a little while.

Amanda fixes her a tray. Soup, bread, fruit, nectar, nutrient water and some kind of vegan sweet cakes. Kat was ravenous all afternoon but now just the smell makes her stomach turn and she drops all but the nectar into a recycler on the way to her room. She forces herself to drink the whole glass, but as comforting as it was the previous evening, it's sticky and cloying tonight. Nothing feels quite right. The refresher is cooler than the rest of the house and the transition spooks her. All of Vulcan is too quiet, and the stars too still. Her body feels foreign; she peels off her uniform as soon as she gets to her room but it doesn’t help. It's her skin that's wrong. Her self.

Gulping air she crawls into the bed, curls up under the top sheet and shuts down, asleep again within minutes.

 

In the morning there's a new tray on the side table, with more fruit and juice and water. Her boots are standing by the doorway and her uniform, left crumpled in a heap on the floor the night before, has been replaced with Michael's again, folded neatly on the chair. Kat hates the idea of Amanda creeping into the room to clean up and mother her on the day of her daughter's memorial. But her mind argues it could help Amanda to have something else to focus on, someone else to take care of, and she can't tell if it's her own clinically taught thought or Sarek's intuition passed through their vague mental connection. Not that it matters, but it would be more comforting to know. She sighs, shakes her head, and eats her breakfast.

She spends the day keeping out of her hosts' way. The homestead is quiet, subdued, all day. She sees very few people though she knows there are some family members preparing a dinner. She visits the garden, spends a couple hours on reports and another one speaking with Command - Sarek has a secure line in his office. The news continues to be dire and no one has any good ideas.

She records messages to the families of the crew of _Discovery_ until her throat hurts too much to continue. She knew few of them personally, but there are so many, and so young. Many of them Pippa's before they were Gabriel's.

Captain Georgiou's was the last funeral she attended in person. Populated by these names, now all gone, too. She stood next to Gabriel, reached for his hand during Afsaneh's eulogy. Michael wasn't there, she was in custody, but Sarek was. Kat hadn't spoken to him, had escaped the reception with Gabriel as soon as it was polite to do so. They'd spent the night clinging to each other. The war was just beginning and already everything was wrong.

 _"Come back to me," she whispers, as he prepares to leave. The_ Buran _is assigned to the frontlines. No one knows what the future holds, and normally she’s too pragmatic for sentiment. But they buried a friend the day before._

_"I promise," he answers, and presses his lips to her forehead, his hand in her hair, holding her close, and safe._

He'd kept that promise, the sole survivor of his ship's destruction. But the man who returned to her wasn't the man who'd made it. Scarred by all he'd seen, he barely looked at her, pushed her away more often than he welcomed her in. The Lorca she spent the last few months with was a stranger wearing her best friend's skin. And now even he is gone.

She doesn't record a message about Gabriel. There's no one to send it to.

Exhausted by duty she eventually retreats to Sarek and Amanda's book. She still can't tell what she's meant to get from it. The protagonist is relatable, but young; Katrina is far past the ‘coming of age through a magical quest' stage of her life, or at least she thinks she should be. But the adult characters are by and large terrible, particularly the parents, and could hardly be intended to be role models unless it’s as what _not_ to do.

She's probably overthinking it. It is working as a distraction after all - she spends a good forty minutes assigning  _dæmon_ s to various friends and colleagues -  and before she knows it, it's time to get ready for the service.

The replacement uniform does solve one dilemma. It would be appropriate to wear her dress uniform to the funeral, but she doesn't have one with her, even on the _Intrepid_. Wearing her standard uniform seems off, a passive aggressive commentary on Michael's status in the fleet that she is determined to avoid. But wearing Michael's uniform would be even worse. She'd dressed in Vulcan robes before, on missions with her father and grandfather. She hasn't used her knowledge of Vulcan etiquette in years, but it all comes back now she's here. As a guest of Michael's parents, she's considered family, but she chooses to wear her Admiral's shield in place of their crest. Starfleet is her heritage, and Burnham's, in a way. She means to honor that and believes Sarek will understand.

 

T H E  P L A I N  O F  V E L ' S O R 

 The ceremony is simple, much simpler than a Fleet funeral, and with far less talking. Vulcans can communicate without words, and normally, often, a piece of the deceased is left behind. Not so when death is so sudden, the soul's destruction so complete. But also, Michael was human, and her _katra_ may not be easily preserved in any case. The thought causes her chest to tighten and again she wonders if it is her reaction, or Sarek's. For a Vulcan to love a human is a more difficult burden than she first understood.

Katrina stands, silent, in the second row, and wishes she had a hand to hold. Instead, she settles her palm against her belly. Could a Vulcan sense her child even now? Maybe she _should_ open up to Sarek.

The receiving line is the longest part of the evening. Sarek's family line is ancient, can be traced all the way back to Surak, and thus quite large. And, of course, he is the Ambassador to Earth, to the Federation, and there are plenty of people here mainly for appearances, and perhaps to support one side or another in the ongoing discourse of the war, though what those sides even are remains as murky as a storm. Many of Amanda’s students are here, and some of Sarek's, from before he was a full time diplomat. And she recognizes a significant portion of the crew of _Intrepid_. She wonders, not for the first time, what Starfleet thinks of Michael Burnham now. Katrina had never believed Michael deserved her sentence, but now she wishes she'd gotten to know her better. Michael had saved her life, and was important to Sarek and Amanda, Philippa, and Gabriel. She was clearly special.

She glances at the Vulcan ambassador and his wife, speaking softly and calmly to each of the guests. Outwardly they seem serene, but she notes tension in their spines, behind their eyes. The loss of a child seems unimaginable. Her baby will grow up without a father but she has experience being without a parent. What should she say to Sarek and Amanda? All the platitudes she recorded earlier bubble up in her brain and fall away, inadequate.

 _I'm sorry_ , she thinks. She catches Sarek watching her, and looks away.

"Admiral Cornwell, hello again."

She blinks and Dr. Corrigan's round face comes into view. "Doctor."

"Daniel," he offers with a smile. "This is my partner, Sorel, and his wife T'Zan."

She nods to the two Vulcans, both stately and somber.

"We grieve with thee," Sorel intones.

Sarek nods and Amanda answers, "Thank you." Their masks of decorum remain intact.

"Michael was a pleasure to have as a patient," Daniel adds. "A bright light."

A smile crosses Amanda's face and she thanks him again, but this time some measure of love and grief are evident in her tone. Katrina fidgets, a new wave of guilt hitting her. Sarek looks over again.

"Yes, thank you, Doctor," he echoes, "It is kind of you to say." He pauses a moment. "Perhaps you might accompany Admiral Cornwell to the dinner table. I'm afraid we will be another half hour or more."

"Of course, I'd be-" Corrigan stops himself before saying ‘delighted’ and instead finishes, "I'm at your service," and gives them a small bow.

"Oh, I don't- I'm fine," Kat protests.

"We know," Daniel answers, offering his arm, "but it's good to get off your feet, and I can go over all the weird foods you may, or may not, want to try."

"I. . ." Kat shakes her head. She's aware of most Vulcan foods, and she's not tired, but she also doesn't want to make a scene. "All right," she agrees and allows Corrigan to lead her to the family table, Sorel and T'Zan following behind. Amanda's eyes narrow at a glance shared between her husband and the Vulcan doctor.

"I know what you're doing and you should drop it."

Sarek raises an eyebrow.

"You know exactly what I mean," she counters. "Sorel has been fixing Daniel up with every human that comes to Shi’kahr for years- and he's a wonderful person but Katrina is grieving. You leave her be."

"She is feeling isolated," Sarek explains.

"Of course she is! Her whole life is upside down right now."

"Yes, she requires stability and-"

"And she needs a _friend_." Amanda shakes her head. "He can be her friend, like you, like me. But anything more than that is too complicated, and should happen at its own pace, without your meddling."

"I am not meddling."

"You're a Vulcan Head of House," she says with an indulgent smile. "You don't know how not to. But not everyone needs to be paired up."

"I am aware the Admiral is not Vulcan," Sarek responds with some affront.

"And I am aware you are trying to focus on something you can fix." His eyes flicker sharply to hers, bright with tears, and brimming compassion. "But you can't." She brushes gentle fingers across his cheek. "You can't fix this. You just have to feel it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the wait - writing this chapter (which I decided worked best broken into two) was rough (especially in the current political climate....and I feel like I've been saying that for at least 3 years). Kat's not really in a good head space and we all know there is Yet More Drama And Trauma to come. So I appreciate your patience, and thank you for following along on her and my journey. <3


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